


I Louvre You

by Ghanima_Starkiller



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), DCU (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 05:13:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghanima_Starkiller/pseuds/Ghanima_Starkiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce and Selina adjust to their new lives, and the new roles they have cast themselves in, and which come naturally, as they discover that starting over really isn't a myth</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Louvre You

Selina had always wanted to do the Louvre. She had just never suspected it would be like this, as a tourist. She found herself still glancing toward where she knew the cameras would be, giving the men in security uniforms surreptitious looks. They wouldn’t recognize her now, and even if they did, they would never be able to find a name or record to go along with her picture. A new life.

They stood together, the backs of their hands touching lightly, knuckle to knuckle. She gave him a playful, sidelong glare. “We could get a postcard, you know,” she commented, a smile quirking at one corner of her red mouth. “It’s just, you’re studying that nude awfully hard.”

“I’m appreciating art,” Bruce protested, folding his hands at the small of his back and furrowing his brow in feigned seriousness. She snorted.

“No, I get that,” she agreed easily enough, too easily; Bruce knew that another playful dig was imminent. It was part of their light banter, the natural, unaffected way they had with talking and teasing each other. “I do seem to recall an inordinate amount of nudes hanging among the hallowed halls of stately Wayne Manor.”

He grinned and dropped his head a little. His hair was getting shaggy, and he was letting it; it fell across his forehead, in his eyes. Without thought, she reached towards him to brush it back. “Yeah, well, that was my father’s collection,” he countered.

“Oh, so it runs in the family!” she observed, lifting her eyebrows, her expression disingenuously haplessly surprised. “An… appreciation of art.” He took her hand and gave it a tug, and they both grinned. They were proof, she thought briefly; they were proof that it was never too late to happen, you were never too far gone. Starting over wasn’t a myth. And yet, old habits died very hard. “We’re in the Louvre,” she remarked, with a bit of a growl to her voice, “and I’m not doing anything illegal.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she thought for a moment that he was going to admonish, to scold or make some sort of flippant comment. No. He wouldn’t. Instead, he seemed to purse his lips in thought. It was her turn for her dark brow to climb against her forehead as he took her hand and tugged her along. “Not exactly what you had in mind,” he laughed under his breath, opening the door to the bathroom to check that it was clear, and then pulling her inside.

The stalls were fairly spacious, and elegant, for that kind of thing; in keeping with the museum’s classic aesthetic. Not that she was exactly noticing at the moment, as she struggled to get his khakis open, pushing the simple t-shirt and button-down he wore over it out of her way as he inched her tight skirt up her shapely hips, he in casual Ralph Lauren, she in classic Givenchy. She lifted a leg and wedged her high heel against the toilet as his hand slipped around the silk of her panties, caressing with his long, rough fingers, running along her already moist cleft and feeling the heat of her through the delicate material, the wetness.

They weren’t exactly groping like desperate teenagers, but it was safe to say that neither had attempted anything like this in a long while. It made her feel young, unjaded… happy. And she could tell from the urgency and ardency of his kisses, the way his tongue caressed the inside of her cheek, he was feeling the same thing.

His fingers sank into her, pushing the panel of her panties aside, to the knuckle, stroking with insistency, making her squirm. She got so wet with him so effortlessly. She wanted him to feel the same, reaching into his boxers to find the length of his velvet shaft, feeling the steel beneath the surface swell as he grew, burgeoned. He braced his palms against the stall wall as she kneeled and took him between her lips, smearing that scarlet lipstick against him, from head to root as she took him into her throat, her moan reverberating against his flesh, and tearing a deeper groan from his deep chest.

His large, capable hands cupped her backside, holding her up, as she once more levered her heels against any corner she could lodge them into, her legs apart, thighs spread for him. Still wet with her saliva, she guided him inside her. He filled her sweltering cunt so perfectly, as if he might somehow overflow, and she gripped him with a sort of possessiveness she had never known. They moved together, not practiced, but with the same spontaneous rhythm. Huffing, panting, kissing, muffling each others cries with lips and tongues. She came first. That was always a surprise, that he seemed to hold out until he felt her end. And then he would spill, pumping into her with white hot intensity, his hand cupping the back of her neck, fingers playing with her long, silken chestnut hair.

He was tucking his shirt back into his pants while she wadded up some bathroom tissue and was wiping her thighs, when the stall door snapped open, the security guard standing there, glaring at them. He unleashed a steady stream of what seemed to be French obscenities as Bruce tried to explain. She was smiling, wondering what he could possibly say, his face covered in her lipstick, his words as fast as the guard’s, but placating as he held his hand out as if in surrender. She was chuckling, not helping in the least. She even blew the guard a kiss as they were escorted out.

They held hands, Bruce folding his sunglasses and sliding them onto the front of his shirt, in the collar. “You're not thinking of buying me one of those stuffed bears, are you?" Selina scoffed, eliciting an amused, mischievous smile from him. "The ones in the gift shop that have the t-shirts that say 'I Louvre You Beary Much?'"

Bruce looked playfully affronted. "Well, I'm not now!"

"Idiot." She groaned, rolling her eyes, her shoulders rising and falling slightly with silent laughter.


End file.
